


wind blows hard tonight (you'll be alright)

by challaudaku



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/challaudaku/pseuds/challaudaku
Summary: Bucky’s sitting in the dining area. There’s no blood anywhere, which is good but —Well, Bucky’s sitting on the floor, instead of a chair. And he’s clawing at the top of his metal arm, almost frantically.Sam feels likes he’s intruding.





	wind blows hard tonight (you'll be alright)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you @ morgan for betaing <333  
> au where fuck civil war they made up and they're all happy and they're One Big Family  
> 3244 words, by gdocs

Sam can’t sleep. It’s not like it’s a new thing. It’s a pretty old thing, in fact; he hasn’t slept well since being in the Air Force. Since Riley. Being an Avenger? Well, he’d never admit it, but his sleep schedule has just gotten worse.

So Sam can’t sleep. He’s gotten used to it. He just treds downstairs to the Avengers’ dining area, preparing to make himself a cup of tea. Tea calms the soul and the mind. His mother swears by it, and so does Sam.

He stops right outside of the dining area though because there are noises coming from inside. It sounds like one person, whimpering.

There’s a flash in Sam’s brain because this means that someone’s hurt. He imagines any of the Avengers, sitting in their dining room, in terrible pain.

Oh, God. What if Sam can’t help them? What if he can only watch while they slowly die?

He tries to tell himself to shut up, that it’s probably not as bad as he thinks, and rounds the corner.

Bucky’s sitting in the dining area. There’s no blood anywhere, which is good but —

Well, Bucky’s sitting on the floor, instead of a chair. And he’s clawing at the top of his metal arm, almost frantically. It’s a tic Sam’s seen him do before, but now there’s a sense of desperation he hasn’t seen before on Bucky’s face and — are those tears?

Sam feels likes he’s intruding, and he could just walk out — Bucky didn’t see him walk in.

Except Sam  _can’t_.

“Bucky?” he whispers.

Bucky pauses, slowly, looking at the floor, his body shaking.

Sam’s totally about to die. He’s about to die at Bucky’s hands, specifically the metal one, right there on the floor of the Avenger’s dining room.

And then Bucky looks up at Sam, something close to desperation scrawled out across his face.

“I don’t —” he mutters, breathing hard. “I can’t — I don’t —”

Bucky takes several breaths, on the verge of hyperventilating.

“What’s wrong?” Sam says. He wants to take a step back so badly. He wants to turn around and just leave.

Sam takes a step forward. A small whimper escapes Bucky’s lips and he quickly wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand. He breathes like he’s trying to steady himself, and Sam just waits before Bucky says:

“Don’t tell Steve.”

It’s almost as if Bucky read Sam’s mind; Sam was  _definitely_ going to tell Steve, mostly because he has no idea what to do. Bucky’s Steve’s best friend, not Sam’s.

“Sorry, I just —” Bucky stops mid-sentence, glancing up at Sam.

“What happened?” Sam asks, stepping forward more. He could probably reach out and touch Bucky now if he wanted to. He doesn’t.

“It just happens sometimes. This,” Bucky says, so quiet that Sam almost doesn’t hear him. He waves his right arm in the air. “Because of this.” Bucky gestures to his metal arm. “I just hate the reminder, and then it gets to be… too much.” 

Sam nods because he gets that — he spent years working with people who have come home with physical reminders from their deployments, reminders of their trauma that they can’t conceal. Bucky probably has more war-related trauma than anyone Sam can possibly think of. This is what he’s  _trained_ to do.

Except not with Bucky.

Bucky, who’s Steve’s best friend. Bucky, who could become the Winter Soldier at the drop of a hat. Bucky, who Sam’s never really gotten along with. Bucky, who has tried to kill Sam twice.

So, yeah, Sam’s hesitant to reach out to Bucky.

But then again, if he doesn’t, who will? Maybe Bucky just  _needs_ someone.

“If you want to talk to someone ever,” Sam says, reaching out a hand slowly. When Bucky doesn’t flinch he places it on Bucky’s shoulder, “I’m here. I used to work as a counselor for veterans who are struggling kind of like you, so I have experience. I guess.”

“You guess?” Bucky says, the tiniest ghost of a smile on the edge of his lips.

“I guess,”  Sam repeats. He then realizes that his hand is lingering on Bucky’s shoulder for too long, so he takes it off and sort of stands there awkwardly.

“Don’t tell Steve,” Bucky says again, looking at the ground. He scratches at the point in his arm where metal meets flesh again, but he’s not pulling at it, so Sam thinks that that’s a good sign.

“Why not?” Sam asks.

“He sleeps in the room next to mine so that he can, you know, calm me down in the middle of the night if he needs to,” Bucky explains, not quite making eye contact with Sam. “But it’s not Steve’s job to take of me. It never was. I just…” Bucky trails off, waving his right arm.

He jerks his head sharply, forcing himself to look Sam in the eyes. There’s something there that Sam can’t help but feel sorry for, like if he was looking at an injured puppy.

Bucky would probably kill him if he heard Sam compare him to a puppy.

“I won’t tell Steve,” Sam says finally, giving Bucky a half-smile.

Bucky visibly relaxes and Sam thinks that this is his cue to leave. He’s done his job.

Sam doesn’t leave.

“Just so you know, Barnes,” he says, making Bucky look up at him, “for all I tease you or whatever, you are still my friend and I do care about you. You know that, right?”

It’s true. Sam might only care about him because Steve cares about him, but it’s not like Bucky’s ever given him a reason to think otherwise. Besides, Steve has good judgment.

Bucky makes a face that shows Sam that no, he did not know that, but he nods his head anyway.

“You can come and talk to me anytime,” Sam offers again.

“Thanks, Sam,” Bucky says, smiling quickly at Sam.

Sam notes that he uses his first name.

“Well, I’m making tea,” Sam says, walking away to the kitchen area. “You want?”

…

Sam virtually doesn’t talk to Bucky for three weeks. They see each other around, and they train together with Steve, but they never have a real conversation.

Tonight, Sam’s lying awake in bed. He keeps going over the day he lost Riley in his head. He can still hear the RPG and can still see Riley falling, falling, falling…

He knows that he shouldn’t let himself get caught up in this cycle of reliving it, but he does, time and time again.

It’s a welcome distraction when there’s a knock on his door.

Sam gets up from his bed, shakes himself a little bit, and pulls open the door.

Bucky’s standing there.

“Hi,” Sam says, looking Bucky up and down.

Bucky’s pulling at his metal arm, but he’s not doing it frantically, which Sam takes as a good sign. He’s wearing pajamas and there’s a frown stretched out on his face.

“Come in,” Sam offers once Bucky doesn’t say anything.

Bucky walks in and Sam shuts the door behind them. He notices Bucky flinching at the sound, but Bucky doesn’t request for the door to remain open, so Sam leaves it closed.

“You said I could come to you,” Bucky whispers.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

Bucky says nothing more.

The tension between them is almost tangible.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

At this question, Bucky’s entire body seems to sag a bit. Sam can see him take several deep breaths before answering, “I don’t know.” His voice cracks on the word ‘know’ and he pulls at the fingers of his metal arm more, looking like he wants to pull it off.

“Hey,” Sam says softly. When Bucky doesn’t look at him, he repeats, “Hey,” louder. He grabs Bucky’s flesh arm and pulls it away from his metal one. With his other hand, Sam tilts Bucky’s head up. “Come sit,” he says, jerking his head towards his bed and leading Bucky there.

Bucky sits and he looks at Sam’s sheets and he looks and looks and looks. Sam realizes, in the midst of Bucky looking, that he’s still holding Bucky’s right hand. He doesn’t let go, though. He’s sure that they’re not at that point yet, but he’ll be damned if he lets Bucky injure himself trying to rip off his metal arm.

“Talking’s good for you,” Sam suggests softly, “but if you’re not up to it you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t want to pressure Bucky into doing anything. Before he worked at the VA and when he went to therapists of his own, that was the thing that shut him down. When he would be grilled with questions, pressured to talk until he felt like he just needed to bottle up everything more.

“I can’t sleep,” Bucky says finally, sighing deeply.

Sam lets go of Bucky’s hand, and he’s a little pleased when Bucky doesn’t go to pull at his prosthetic.

“That’s normal,” Sam says slowly.

The truth is, he has no idea how to help Bucky. He can’t sleep either, which means he’s no help to Bucky. He’s always been bad at helping people through the physical things, preferring to stay with their emotions.

“It’s just —” Bucky runs his hands over his face and Sam wonders how uncomfortable the metal hand makes that. “Can I sleep in here?” Bucky asks finally.

Sam’s not sure he heard him correctly.

He pops his ears and asks, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Never mind,” Bucky says quickly, looking up to the ceiling. “It was a stupid idea. Just ignore it. I just thought that maybe if I was with someone else I might be able to actually sleep but it —”

“Bucky,” Sam says sharply, cutting him off. It’s a stupid idea. Sam is probably going to die. And he only has one bed. But still. He  _needs_ sleep. If this helps either of them, that’ll be good, right? “You can sleep in here if you really want. If you think it might help.”

…

Sam is totally going to die. He doesn’t know why he didn’t insist that they switch sides, but now Sam’s lying on Bucky’s left, right next to his metal arm. It’s too late to switch sides, anyway, because Bucky’s sleeping beside him, his breathing even. It’s good that he’s sleeping, Sam supposes, but he’s not.

He just really doesn’t want the Winter Soldier to wake up and strangle him to death.

…

Sometime in the night, Sam must’ve drifted off because he wakes up with the sunlight peeking through his window.

His neck is still attached to his head, thankfully.

He sits up, looking over at Bucky, who’s breathing softly, his eyes still closed.

He looks peaceful.

Sam wishes he could just make Bucky look like that all the time. When he’s awake, there’s always a trace of a frown on Bucky’s face. There’s an urge in Sam’s stomach to keep Bucky like this — to carry over the peacefulness he has now to when he’s awake.

He doesn’t linger, though; Steve’ll be expecting him for their morning run.

…

Sam doesn’t expect Bucky to be in his room tonight, but he’s there before Sam is.

“Is this okay?” Bucky asks and Sam remembers how peaceful Bucky looked this morning and how Bucky was actually able to sleep and Sam nods.

He makes sure to climb in on the right side this time.

…

They fall into an easy routine. They don’t really talk about it, but it’s nice to have each other and they both actually  _sleep_ now.

They talk about other things though. Anything and everything that pops into their minds at random times. The other Avengers probably notice that the dynamic between them has shifted, but Sam really couldn’t care less.

And besides, Sam realizes, Bucky’s not too bad.

…

Sam wakes up in the middle of the night after a few weeks of him and Bucky sleeping together and the first thing he realizes is that he’s really close to Bucky. Like  _really_ close.

Bucky’s metal arm is at his back and it’s drawn him near. Sam can almost touch Bucky’s chest with his nose.

And all Sam can think is how he’s totally going to die now.

Sam takes a deep breath, staying very still. Bucky doesn’t move at all. He just breathes evenly, showing no sign of waking up.

Sam’s going to die, Sam’s going to die, Sam’s going to die.

Sam stays like that the rest of the night. He can’t fall asleep, not when Bucky might crush him in between his metal arm and his chest.

When Bucky finally stirs and shifts, his metal arm hits Sam’s back and he jumps.

Sam breathes.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Bucky says, looking at Sam slightly panicked. “I just — Steve and I used to sleep like that.”

“You and Steve?” Sam repeats. He’s not really sure he heard right.

“Yeah, we had a… A thing, back in the day,” Bucky says, running his real hand through his hair with a light chuckle. He’s sitting up now, and Sam also straightens up. “It doesn’t really matter though. We never talked about it once we were both alive and that was okay and… Well, I’m over it by now. Steve probably is, too, or he would’ve brought it up.”

Bucky sounds so  _defeated_ at this and Sam doesn’t really know why, but he feels an irrational anger directed towards Steve.

And then Sam realizes that it’s not anger. He’s  _jealous_.

 _Oh_ , Sam thinks.

Oh, oh, oh.

…

Naturally, Sam freaks out.

He  _can’t_ have a crush on Bucky. Sam always knew he was bisexual, but Bucky’s… Well, Bucky’s  _Bucky_. Sam can’t like him like that.

He kicks Bucky out of his room. He doesn’t really kick him out — he just asks him politely if he could stop sleeping in the same room as Sam because while Sam’s actually sleeping with Bucky around, his heart’s going crazy whenever he’s awake.

Sam stops sleeping.

He’s pretty sure Bucky does, too; he looks downright awful. There are bags under his eyes whenever Sam sees him around the Avengers Tower.

Steve corners him, today, and Sam knows that Steve  _knows_ from just one look at him.

“What?” Sam says anyway, feigning innocence.

“What did you do to Bucky?” Steve asks, putting on his Captain America voice.

Sam bites his tongue because of course Steve’s asking about Bucky. It’s always Bucky.

“I didn’t do anything,” Sam says. It’s the truth — he stopped doing  _anything_ with Bucky. That’s the problem.

“Really?” Steve says, raising an eyebrow. “Because you guys became best friends all of the sudden and he got better. He was  _happy_. And then _something_ happened and he’s worse again.”

When Steve puts it like that, Sam feels like a dick.

“So are you,” Steve adds quietly.

Sam looks up at Steve — he’s a few inches shorter, much to his dismay — and he just sees pure concern. Steve’s his  _friend_. If he can’t admit it to himself or Bucky, he should be able to admit it to Steve at least. He’s _Steve_. Captain Freaking America.

“I like Bucky,” Sam says, gritting his teeth. Steve’s face drops and rises really quickly. Sam’s not even sure he really sees the change. “But it doesn’t matter,” Sam continues, deciding that he _d_ _id_ see Steve’s face change and he’s right. “Bucky’s yours. You’re Bucky’s. So…”

“No,” Steve says softly.

There’s a sad look on his face, a look that he gets when he talks about the war or about the 1930s. Like he’s looking past what’s in front of his eyes.

“At one point, yeah, but not now,” Steve says, still smiling sadly, but it’s more wistful inside and Sam  _feels_ that. He feels like the wistfulness on Steve’s face. _Oh_.

“You should go for him,” Steve urges.

Sam shakes his head. He is vetoing that idea.

“Please, Sam,” Steve urges. “You both could use a win. Besides, I ship it.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Parker too much,” Sam says, smiling softly. Steve just shrugs.

“Please,” he says again. “Bucky won’t come to you first, even though he wants to.”

This makes Sam freeze.

“He wants to?” he whispers, almost breathless. He definitely misheard that.

“You’re not my only friend, Wilson,” Steve says, shrugging. “Look, Bucky’s pretty brave in a lot of ways, but he’s an utter wimp when it comes to long-term relationships. Trust me. I’ve been there. He’ll work himself up to thinking that whoever he’s pining over doesn’t like him and then nothing ever happens. He’s a worrier. He’s really only good at picking people up for a night.”

Sam chuckles at this, but he doesn’t really know why he’s laughing.

This means he’ll have to take the lead in this.

Or he could just ignore it further.

And then Sam looks at Steve, who’s staring at him expectantly.

No, he’s not going to leave this.

…

“Buck?” Sam says, leaning against Bucky’s door frame. Bucky’s on his bed, hunched over a laptop, squinting at it.

“Ah, Wilson,” Bucky says, glancing up. Sam notes that Bucky’s back to calling him ‘Wilson’ instead of ‘Sam’. “You’re just in time. I don’t know how to work this.” Bucky gestures towards the laptop and Sam rolls his eyes. Grandpa.

“Can we talk, actually?” Sam asks, daring to take a step in.

Bucky looks at him, searching him up and down, his eyes cold and calculating. He must see something in Sam that he approves of, though, because he puts the laptop aside and says, “Sure,” patting the spot on his bed next to him.

Sam walks over, sits down, looks up at Bucky and —

And all the words are gone from Sam’s head.

Seriously. All he can think is ‘ _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ ’.

He can’t do this.

“What’d you want to talk about?” Bucky asks after a few moments of complete silence.

And Sam remembers seeing the peaceful look on Bucky’s face and he remembers Bucky accidentally drawing him in and he remembers Steve looking so wistful at the thought of being with Bucky and saying “ _please_ ” and saying “he wants to”.

And Sam holds his breath and leans forward and takes Bucky’s head in his hands, before Bucky can react, and kisses him right on the lips.

Sam’s done a lot of reckless things in his life, but this takes the cake.

The kiss lasts for one, two, three seconds before Bucky pushes Sam off with his flesh arm, and Sam almost falls backward, but Bucky’s metal arm grabs him, keeping him upright.

Bucky’s eyes are wide in shock. He’s looking all over Sam’s face as if Sam just killed a man in front of Bucky’s eyes.

Sam’s totally, completely, one hundred percent going to die now.

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t stop  _staring_.

Yup, Sam’s going to be choked to death with Bucky’s metal arm and he’s going to haunt Steve’s ass for telling him to do this.

Sam almost can’t take the silence anymore and he’s going to say something — apologize, say it’s just a joke, _something_ — when Bucky puts his metal hand on Sam’s cheek.

He’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to die.

And then Bucky pulls Sam’s face in, crashing their lips together.

Sam can feel Bucky’s mouth quirk upwards against his.

And —

 _Oh_.


End file.
